Ah! could I ask a happier home Than the deep sea with thee to roam. And while the dancing sunbeams play nest?" three several times. It was even a solicitation to part with Dora, that she might be permitted to accompany the stranger and receive through his means an education and fortune which would compensate for a few brief years of separation. One moment of thoughtful silence-and-Abel was himself again! And when the stranger again pressed his acceptance of the proposition and pointPoor Julie! her story is told in a few words. ed out the injustice which would be done the child Her lover had forsaken her and gone over the sea by a refusal, old Abel, having listened very patientto marry one to whom he had been long betrothed. ly to it all, looked up, and said in a tone from which He deceived her with a promise which he never there seemed no appeal-" My only answer is no! meant to keep, of returning to claim her as his now and forever! I will never sell my flesh and bride. Agony for the loss of her lover, together blood; and above all, she shall never be subjected with the discovery of his baseness, deprived the to the temptations of a ruinous city. If your inpoor girl of her reason. She was the granddaughter tentions are pure, (which God knows I do not of old Chelsie Grayton, whose wandering and un- doubt,) the will is as good as the deed, and may settled life tended greatly to increase her malady. the Almighty reward you for it. If I thought They had once been respectable, but the loss of otherwise, I would pray to him who alone knoweth virtue and consequent derangement of the being the heart, to forgive you as freely as I hope I she most loved, had so exasperated and incensed would. My answer is no-never!" Chelsie with the world, that life seemed to her a burden which she could only lighten by rendering herself the pest and terror of the unsophisticated beings around her. Her wild prophecies had greatly affected the minds of those simple and uneducated people, and they strove by acts of kindness to the harmless and gentle maniac to excite her to feelings of humanity and habits of industry, but without effect. "Alas, poor luckless maiden!" sighed the stranger as the last sound of her sweet voice fell upon his ear; "would that thou could'st obtain one draught of Lethe's stream: then indeed might thy sorrows cease. This was the longest speech Abel was ever known to make. CHAPTER IV. Years rolled on. The gay city of was anticipating the approaching féte to be given by the wealthy bachelor, Montant Clinton, in honor of his lovely ward, Madeline Bois. Montant Clinton was an eccentric man-at least every body thought so. A strange circumstance which occurred in his youth had given rise to this appellation, which after circumstances did not tend to prove had been inappropriately bestowed. At the very moment of Even in his dreams, long did the voice of that his appointed marriage with a wealthy heiress, it witless maiden ring in the ears of the sleeping was still well remembered that Montant Clinton stranger. Days, weeks and months rolled on, and had fled from his birth-place-aye, from his counyet the handsome stranger lingered amid the pre-try-absenting himself for years, without ever ascincts of the romantic scenery of Lake George. signing any reason either to the insulted friends of He had now become quite domesticated at Abel's the rejected bride or his own family. wee cot and from his urbanity of manner had cre- There were some conjectures, however, that the ated an interest in the heart of every member of latter were in some degree apprised of his object its little domicil. Even old Ellen had been heard in thus being self-exiled. Many years had passed to bless the "gem'an's kind heart." But to Dora since then, but the recollection of the event and the belonged the magic art of calling forth the whole excitement it created was still fresh in the memoenergies of his heart and mind. For her would he ries of many. He appeared now on this second relate anecdotes of far distant countries with a viv-return as the head of his proud family, his parents idness and beauty which often brought tears, some-being dead. His sister was the mother of a rising times of delight-sometimes of sorrow, to the eyes family, as aristocratic, as cold as the original stock of his youthful listeners. He was also the projec- from which they sprung. tor of many delightful excursions-sometimes on Fairer than a poet's dream-more beautiful than the Lake, which endeared him to their young a Peri of the East, was Madeline Bois, the orphan hearts. They thought not of his departure until it ward of Clinton. She was the only child of a actually occurred; and then indeed, even old Abel dear departed friend and an heiress. Such was the seemed disturbed and expressed his regret in a few history of the beauteous stranger as related by Clinwords. Abel was a man of laconic speech, but he ton to his sister, who, after due inquiries respectwas now in danger of being made to talk long and ing her birth had been satisfactorily answered, beearnestly by a proposal of the stranger which sur-stowed her most gracious and patronising smile prised him into a repetition of "Are you in ear-'upon the wealthy charge of her dear Montant. All eyes were bent in eager gaze as the light | dreams of my childhood comes the image of one, form of Madeline, leaning on the arm of her guar- (be not sorrowful, Ludovico, thou knowest, alas, dian, glided gracefully into the room. All paused; yes! thou knowest I love thee,) to whom, though then a low murmur ran around the room. This, lost for aye to me, my soul still clings even as it then, is the lovely Bois! but not the dazzling, bril- does to thee! still did I say? no-once clung, oh, liant beauty that expectation had pictured, spark- how fondly! Hark, a footstep!-fly, Ludovicoling in diamonds and glowing in health. They linger not for God's sake, and oh! if you love me, were not prepared to see this moonlight beauty of for mine!" thought and feeling. Her eye beamed with animated light-the light of intellect-but its glance went not in quest of admiration. Her voice was music itself, but sadness mingled with its youthful tones. All were disappointed, yet all were pleased, and many hearts were touched with tender interest, whose owners had been anticipating a delightful flirtation with la belle Madeline. "Then farewell, sweet Madeline; in four days thou shalt be mine." "Never," said the maiden, and her head sank upon his shoulder, "remember my oath: never can I be thine!" "Farewell--in four days-and now one kiss." The maiden raised her head, threw a rapid glance around-their lips met-" Farewell!" The dance commenced and soon all was mirth "Villain!" said a voice, "you have escaped me and gayety. The light form of Madeline seemed twice! This is the third time and thou art mine!" to acquire a new beauty, as with inimitable grace The report of a pistol was heard there was a it glided through the dance, noiselessly as a sum-heavy fall. Montant Clinton was found weltering mer zephyr. Her cheek now wore a richer hue--in his blood and Ludovico motionless by his side her eye more brightness. with the deadly weapon in his hand. One wild shriek from Madeline had brought the company to the spot. 66 Madeline," ," said Clinton in a whisper, "I fear you overrate your strength; retire for a few moments-take my arm-prefer going alone? Ah, very well-but do not absent yourself too long, my sweet Madeline-shall I send my sister-send Caroline to you?" CHAPTER V. Time had wrought no change in the beautiful "No-no-no! I thank you, I thank you; but and romantic scenes in the vicinity of Lake George. I would be alone." Madeline sat in a low portico, where the light breeze came playing through the white jessamine, lifting the dark curls from her brow and kissing her pale cheek, for the hue called forth by excitement had already disappeared. Her cheek rested upon one fair hand, while with the other she pulled towards her the fragrant vine to inhale its pure breath, when a voice softly pronounced, "Madeline!" and the eyes of the young artist were gazing on her. "Thou here!" exclaimed the soft voice of the maiden, in Italian; "whence comest thou? do I indeed see thee again? I thought the wide ocean rolled between us-why art thou here? Oh! Ludovico-in a strange land-far from thy vine-clad home." The same little cots were visible along its marginthe same blue hills in the distance the placid Lake, as pure, as clear and brilliant with its continually undulating lustre. The little islands in groups or solitary loveliness still reposed upon its bosom, and together with the surrounding beauties of the shore were reflected in mimic form in its own bright mirror. But where are the bright and blooming spirits that gave life and animation to the scene? gone? not all.-A small cottage stands, or did at that period stand near a dark forest which, rising from the rocky shore, overhangs the lake, throwing its dark shadows into its waveless bosom. In front of the little window which looked out upon this glorious scene of nature, on a rude couch, reclined a female form-young and beautifully fair; the bright light of the departing sun threw his "Oh! speak not thus coldly Madeline? thou beams across the window and far into the apartknowest full well thou lovest me-but dost thou not ment, lighting the face of the invalid with an unuyet know how deeply, wildly thou art beloved? sual glow, almost persuading the beholder it was No, thou canst not, and therefore 'tis thou askest the returning glow of health; but the next moment 'why art thou here, Ludovico ?' Thou art mine, it had passed away, leaving those features pale and Madeline-shake not thy dark tresses thus des- statue-like. The eyes were closed, but the long pondingly. Thou art mine! I have read it in the dark lashes were full of tears, which was the only stars-in the glance of thy dark eye and in mine evidence that that fragile being was not enjoying own soul! Madeline--dearest Madeline!" and the a sweet repose, so still, placid and motionless she youth pressed her to his heart and whispered one seemed. little word. 66 'My dear lady," said a voice tremulously and Nay, call me not so-oh! call me not so- in a foreign tongue, "speak to thine own Alie. no-no-in pity do not! That name recalls vis- Does not this scene remind thee of our own bright ions of departed joys, and blended with those day-land--our own loved Italy ?" wrote to him telling him all--my poor father had nothing save his wee cot and that was now mine, but could I live there alone, for Ellen, ignorant as she was, had no head for planning or acting in such "Oh, Alie!" sighed the gentle invalid, "as thou | But that pitiless storm spared not one. Many lovest me speak not thus-my spirit's on the weary months did poor Ellen and I watch by him, wing-seek not to rouse my thoughts from heavenly but alas! . . . . And where was Edward now? I things and bring them back to those of earth, so bright and beautiful, but oh how perishable! Oh, Alie! yon scene upon which thou gazest was the first of earth mine infant eye e'er beheld. Yes, Alie! although you know it not, this is my birth-place a dilemma. 'Twas now that Chelsie Grayton and these the scenes of my innocent childhood. evinced an interest in me which had manifested 'Twas here I first met him whom thou hast known itself at all other times by threats, menaces and only as my guardian-my kind guardian, for such an endeavor to terrify me in sundry ways. She at was he ever, and save but I wander. My once assumed the charge of me until Edward could mother died at my birth. Alas, for me! I never return and take me under his own protection, or felt her loss, for my father loved me well and my make some provision for his adopted sister: she was brothers were ever kind; but there was another—very kind and my heart warmed towards her. She took me to a far city and gave me to a kind lady. Chelsie bade me remain with her and love her until I should hear from or see Edward, but time passed on and I heard not from Edward. Why did he not fly to his dear sister-his beloved cousin-his Dora ? Alas, alas! I pined for the dear hills and the glorious lake and the society of the loved and lost. I have not words to tell thee how well, how fondly we loved. My cousin Edward! ('poor Ludovico!' sighed Alie,) oh! Alie, you should have seen his bold and beautiful brow-his dark, dark eye-so full of animation-his voice, 'soft as the breathings of a lover's lute.' This stranger came to our beautiful, our innocent, our happy home. He besought my father to give him-what think you the stranger "The caresses of the kind Mrs. Kentwell were entreated the good old man to bestow upon him? received with gratitude, but in silence and tears. his heart's treasure, Alie! Aye, his heart's trea- To amuse my mind, this kind old lady collected a sure—myself!—for he loved me, Alie, passing few youthful playmates whom she duly introduced well; I was the breathing resemblance of a de- to my acquaintance and they soon became my freparted and beloved sister. Well, my father thanked quent guests. I was strolling along one of the the stranger but said nay, although he promised principal streets, accompanied by my young commuch of wealth, of all that worldly minds are caught panions, when my bonnet being carelessly tied was by, but my good old father was a plain, unlettered suddenly wafted away by a puff of air and I had man with only one ambition that of raising his chil- no other alternative but to chase it a considerable dren in virtue. If there was a particle of worldly distance. I at length succeeded in gaining pospride in his nature it was that of having been a session of it, my cheek glowing with exertion and 'brave soldier,' as he would often tell his boys confusion. I raised my eyes to see if my flying whilst narrating his adventurous exploits to them chase had been observed by the passing crowd, of a winter evening, which were listened to with when they encountered those of the identical eager delight by us all. But now came the month, stranger who had one year before been with me at the day, the hour which must take our dear Edward my father's little cot, my then happy but now desoaway to the college. There were many tears late home. Surprise and joy lighted up his counshed-my little heart was sunk with grief. But tenance, but I only covered my eyes and burst into he must go 'twas his mother's dying wish. My tears. His delight was unbounded. He besought heart was bursting-I said not a word when he me to accept his protection-promised to be a second embraced me, saying in a low tone, 'Continue thus father-to supply the place of my lost one. He ever to love your Edward, Dora;' but I ceased not to weep for days after. My good old father had bestowed upon him his last blessing! engaged to discover the reason of Edward's silence and non-appearance and obtain his concurrence in his plans for my happiness. My protectress was at first reluctant to yield her prior claim to me, but was finally induced to consent from a desire to promote my advancement in life. I only waited for a reply from Edward to accept the protecting kindness of my friend, the stranger-at length it came; how my heart bounded! I opened it. "It was a dark and stormy night, the wind blew with great violence, my brothers were still absentthis was so unusual an occurrence that my father became uneasy and finally ventured out in the raging storm to seek them. The cloth was laid, but Ellen suspended supper for the 'luckless lads,' as she termed them, but never, never more were "Yes, it was from my dear Edward; but oh! how their smiling faces to gladden our humble and happy different were its expressions from those contained repast. In yon beauteous lake their youthful forms in his former letters-breathing naught but tenderrepose! Can I ever forget the moans of agony ness-deep and fervent affection. It was-yes, I which burst from the heart of the stricken old could not misunderstand it-it was cold-aye, cold man? Alie, he died!-not of grief alone, oh no! for and almost, (I thought,) cruel. 'He was,' he his mind was strong even as his heart was kind. said, 'grateful to the stranger for his proffered kindness,' and desired me by all means to accept | I arose, I pressed my lips to his, exclaiming, speak 'his generous and disinterested offer,' acquainting to thy Madeline, thy Dora, oh! dear sir, and I will me that his time was now so precious it would be be yours wholly, wholly! I will resign, Ludovico-impossible for him to offer his 'condolences on the I am yours! He clasped me to his heart, calling mournful occasion of his dear uncle's death and me his own Dora, his beloved Madeline. The exthat of his beloved cousins, in person,' he therefore citement over, I regretted my hasty promise. begged to assure me he very sincerely regretted Again I met the unhappy Ludovico and I was in my irreparable losses and remained my affec- despair. He entreated me to fly with him, but I tionate cousin Edward.' would not break my self-imposed vow. I, however, promised him I would never fulfil my vow without first apprising him of the time and place appointed; which I also promised, at his earnest and eager "I threw myself into the arms of the stranger and wept upon his bosom. I had never seen Chelsie Grayton since she brought me to Mrs. Kentwell's house. That good old lady having once received supplication, should only be in my own country. a singular favor at the hands of that strange being had endeavored by every act of kindness to myself to repay it in some degree, and in doing so she became fondly attached to her 'little protegée,' as she always termed me. For this purpose we prepared to return to my almost forgotten country. We reached America, the land of my birth, but my health had suffered much from the voyage and, as thou knowest, secret grief had also been preying on my health and reduced me to 'The stranger's kindness increased every day. the mere shadow of my former self. Oh! EdSuffice it to say I took leave of my kind Mrs. Kent-ward, Edward! did I not think of thee then? All well, left kind remembrances for Chelsie, wrote a was forgotten. Thy cruel letter, thy cold expresfew cold lines to say farewell to Edward and accom- sions. I thought only of the dear lake and the litpanied my guardian to Italy-beloved Italy! my tle cot and thy tremulous 'farewell.' The rest, second home. Thou knowest the rest. Under his why recall? how that féte was given to rouse my watchful eye I was there educated-how patiently drooping spirits; how they met and how, (oh! God, did he explain with clearness and precision aught oh! God,) he fell and by whose hand!" which seemed abstruse to my unformed mind, until The eyes of the fair invalid closed; she fell back gradually under his enlightened and expansive one, exhausted. A step now sounded on the planked my own became enlarged and illumined with the floor as of one rapidly approaching; the little door pure light of intellect. But I am weary and must was thrown open and Ludovico appeared. The not digress--sit near, my good, kind Alie, my al- dark eyes of the maiden unclosed and the next most mother. I said thou knowest the rest, but moment she was pressed to the beating heart of her thou knowest not all. By chance I met Ludovico lover. With a shudder she endeavored to free herand before I was aware of the danger gave him self from his embrace, when, in a voice of sad and my heart. That silly heart, in its guilelessness, tender reproach, he exclaimed, "Turn not away, prompted me to reveal it to my guardian. Alas, my beloved Madeline, I am not a murderer! Thank alas! what was my surprise when he dashed me God he lived long enough to explain the fatal accifrom him with violence, called me ungrateful, dent and to learn that a father's hand had been raised swore vengeance on Ludovico and informed me he to take the life he gave, of his own son! Look up, had reared me for his own wife. I almost fainted my beloved, look up, sweet love. Dora, I am thine from surprise and indignation, but in a few moments own-thine own Edward; yet still thy Ludovico, he became calm, approached me kindly, regretted under which assumed name I followed, wooed and his violence and entreated my forgiveness, assuring won thee. Wilt thou not bless me with one smile, me he never would insist upon any measure which one word? And must I tell thee, Dora? Alas, my I myself would not willingly accede to. He seemed father-thy Guardian, thy lover, Dora, he was, greatly agitated, abruptly crossed to the other end of the apartment and throwing himself upon a couch, his bosom heaved almost to bursting. He sighed deeply, audibly. With a noiseless step I approached him, (for my heart was agitated by a thousand contending emotions,) and ere he was A bright smile played for a moment o'er her pale aware of it I was kneeling at his feet. All his features. He bent his face to hers. The outstretched kindness rose to my memory and I felt that I could arms encircled his neck; her lip was raised, her devote myself wholly to his happiness. He raised glance met his, the eye beaming with love ineffable. • me from my kneeling posture, placed me on the He gazed at her deeply, intensely. A glassy lustre couch by his side-pressed me to his heart convul- came o'er that once bright eye, her feeble voice sively, then releasing me, turned away his haughty pronounced "Edward!" and the next moment the head to conceal a tear! Yes, Alie, he, the proud-arms stiffened--the eye again closed and the maiden the seeming cold-wept for me-the child which had ceased to breathe. oh, God! he was! My poor deserted mother-his lawful wife! Her young hopes blighted-the thread of her young existence rudely snapt asunder. Thee too he destined for his victim! That cold letterhis the forgery! Listen, sweet one ———." his own hand had reared-the child of his bounty! "Live! oh, live for my sake!" passionately ex claimed the unhappy lover, "for thine Edward's that an entire recovery was not to be hoped for, sake, revive! Oh, God! Oh, God! my voice hath killed my love!" Long, long did he clasp to his heart the inanimate form of his beautiful love, as if by the warmth of his own he might restore animation to hers. . . . . Alas! that the lovely, the innocent, the pure in heart, the beloved should die! She revived not e'en at the call of Love! THE LATE COMMODORE DALLAS. TO THE EDITOR OF THE SOU. LIT. MESSENGER. Dear Sir:-I have sent you this account of the death and funeral of Commodore Dallas, considering such a notice in the Messenger as due him, and perhaps presenting some general interest as detailing the ceremonies of interment on a foreign station. and under such circumstances he earnestly desired that his life might not be protracted; remarking that, "the life was not worth preserving which could be of no further use to his country." Having come to the conclusion to resign his command of the Pacific Squadron and return home in the frigate United States, then absent on the coast of Mexico, her arrival was daily and anxiously looked for, for two weeks preceeding his death. As day after day closed in disappointment as to her arrival, he began to fear that the progress of his disease might be so rapid as to prevent his giving the necessary instructions whenever this ship should arrive. In anticipation of such a contingency, he caused his wishes and orders to be written out, and three days before his death made an acknowledgment of them in the presence of witnesses. In these instructions he particularly enjoined that in case of his death`at sea his remains should be there deposited, wishing, as he said, "no other than a seaman's grave." The English and Sardinian ships withheld the salutes customary upon the occasion of certain official visits. On the morning of June 4th, 1844, the harbor of Having made these arrangements, he yielded Callao was attired in the gloomy symbols of public himself unresistingly to death, which came on so mourning. The flags of the United States, British, gradually that the lapse of hours was necessary to French and Sardinian ships of war, those of the mark its advance, and he passed away as if falling Peruvian castles, and of the many merchant ships into a quiet slumber, the moment of dissolution of different nations in the harbor, all hung drooping being scarcely perceptible to those watching him at half mast. The previous night had closed the anxiously. It was highly grateful to his officers to life of Commodore ALEXANDER J. DALLAS, Com-mark the respectful and considerate attention paid mander-in-Chief of the United States Naval forces him by the foreign squadrons during his illness. in the Pacific, an event which had been hourly expected for some days. The ceremonials of woe, which are the prescribed attendants upon the death of one high in official station, were, upon this occa- On the afternoon of June 5th, his remains were sion, in melancholy unison with general and sincere deposited in the Pantheon, belonging to the Engsorrow. Foreigners with whom Commodore Dal-lish residents of Lima, situated at the village of las had been brought into social or official relations Bella Vista, two miles from Callao. The proceswere pained at the loss of one whom they had sion formed at the flag ship Savannah, and left it learned to respect for his character and abilities, in the following order. Three U. S. launches and to admire for his polished manners and courteous urbanity, while, in his own flag ship, were the sadly heavy hearts of those who mourned, not only the loss of a Commander-in-Chief, but of him around whom they had gathered as a happy family around its head. abreast preceded, the two outer containing the Marine Guard, and the centre one the music; after these came the Commodore's barge containing the body, his broad pennon covering the coffin, with Admiral Petit Thouars commanding the French squadron, Sir Thomas Thompson commanding Commodore Dallas' death resulted from disease H. B. M. Ship Talbot, Count Persano commandof the brain, which had been making a gradual, but ing Sardinian brig Eridano, and Commanders Stribsteady and certain progress for three months pre-ling and Hollins as pall bearers, each in his own vious to its termination. It was the yielding of the boat. The Hon. J. C. Pickett, U. S. chargé d'af machinery of life to the influence of enthusiastic emotions, and the exacting demands of an ever active mind, for his was one of those faires joined the pall bearers after the procession reached the shore. Boats containing the officers and crews of all the squadrons, each bearing the flag of its respective nation, followed in lines of "Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given, three abreast. At the moment of starting, a minBear hearts electric-charged with fire from Heaven." ute gun boomed from the Savannah, and this was The first indication of the dangerous nature of repeated until thirteen were twice fired from this his affection was the occurrence of paralysis of the ship; the Cyane, La Reine Blanche, Talbot and left arm and side of the face during the month of Eridano extending these soleun sounds over most February preceding his decease. With an accurate of the afternoon, while with slowly dipping oars the appreciation of his condition he early felt assured procession moved towards the town of Callao. |